


Back Against the Wall

by Jayswing



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:24:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayswing/pseuds/Jayswing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, it's always been just him and Daryl.<br/>That's why it hurts so much when he has to let him go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back Against the Wall

“Shoot me.” A bit of blood flicks out to stain Daryl’s lips. Rick looks over at him, his relief at his return to consciousness short-lived. He should’ve known that he would start this again the minute he woke up. But having the Dixon still and unmoving was too close to being dead. Too much for Rick to bear.

“No,” Rick responds. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“You gotta. I ain’t turnin’ into one of those things. You—” He breaks off, coughing raggedly. Rick wants to rip his ears off at the pained noise, thankful when it finally ends with Daryl spitting up a considerable volume of blood on the ground. “You don’t let your own turn.” The hunter’s panting, the amount of sweat on his brow increasing.

“You can’t ask me to—”

“I am askin’ you,” Daryl interjects, blue eyes struggling to open so he can stare at Rick. The man flinches at the disappointment there. It’s a look he’s not familiar with from this particular man, but Rick knows he couldn't have deserved it more. “That ain’t how I want to be remembered, Rick. Not by you.” His words are spread far apart. His mouth keeps working, but no sound comes out. Rick’s chest feels constricted as he realizes what a struggle mere speaking has become for Daryl.

“You need to rest,” Rick says. “I’ll get you some water.” He needs any excuse to hide his face so he can cry. He won’t let Daryl see his tears; he doesn’t deserve it. Doesn’t deserve to see how broken Rick is when Daryl’s the one who should be crying. But he doesn’t cry. Just takes it without a word, just like he always has. But Rick knows how scared he is. Almost as scared as Rick is himself.

Rick stops dead rising from his crouch when Daryl’s too-warm hand clasps around the wrist. He forces himself to ignore how the strength he’s become so used to in the hunter’s corded muscle is nearly nil. “What I need,” Daryl rasps, “is for you to take your gun and shoot me with it.”

Another wave of agony seems to overwhelm the hunter, because his hand drops away from Rick’s as he curls in on himself, eyes screwed shut. He lets out a pained groan, and Rick knows that it’s only expressing a fraction of the burning torment he’s feeling. One thought comes to Rick suddenly, staggering in its clearness. _He’s suffering_.

When Daryl recovers, Rick takes his hand in both of his, pressing the fever-burned skin to his lips. His tears are flowing free, now. Even he doesn’t have the restraint to keep them back. “Okay,” he whispers.

“‘Okay’, what?” Rick almost— _almost_ —smiles because this sounds like the old Daryl. The Daryl who's his and only his for God knows what reason. After everything, Rick knows that he doesn’t deserve someone as beautiful as Daryl. Maybe that’s why he has to lose him after what felt like such a short time. Maybe this is God’s way of laughing at him. But all Rick can think of is how lucky he is to have known him.

“I’ll do it.”

The relief that fills Daryl’s eyes hurts Rick like the bullet that'd pierced him so long ago. Rick pulls his gun out of its holster, the weight of it no longer reassuring in his palm. He wants to cast it from him, so that he’ll have no means to carry out what Daryl’s asking. But Rick’s never been a coward, especially not around Daryl. It’s one weakness he’d never let the hunter see from him, because he’s never seen it from Daryl. He pulls back the hammer of his Python slowly, preparing it for doing the unthinkable. Something that Rick is beginning to believe is _undoable_.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to go on without Daryl. It’s not something he can comprehend. He’s known the hunter from the time this thing began. Always had him watching his back. And when they’d finally decided there was more to their relationship than mutual respect, it just made them all the more inseparable. Made them able to cope when they lost everyone except for each other.

He realizes that there’s only one answer to this situation. His back’s against the wall; he’s got no choice. So he snakes his arm around Daryl’s shoulders, hoisting the man up slightly. He hums reassuringly, apologetically, when Daryl’s breath hitches in pain at the movement. Using his other hand, he places the barrel of the gun to the back of Daryl’s head. He positions himself directly above the Dixon, so the bullet’s destined to pierce both of them.

The hunter seems to realize what he’s up to, and he begins to struggle. Rick winces at how easy it is to hold him in place. “Rick, no—”

Rick cuts him off. “Let me do this my way, Daryl. I’m beggin’ you. Please.”

Daryl opens his mouth to protest, but something in Rick’s expression seems to stop him. He finally nods, tears shining in his vibrant blue eyes. Rick takes a moment—what feels like a millennium—to collect himself, knowing it’s cruel to Daryl to wait this long. But he knows that if he’s not careful, this could break him—his resolve.

He’s about to do it—to pull the trigger—when Daryl seems to struggle to speak. “Wait.” The word comes out mostly as air. Rick stops, hoping that maybe he’s changed his mind, that he’s not going to ask him to do this. “Kiss me, Sheriff.”

Rick chokes back a sob, nodding once. He leans down, lips parted as he gasps for air. Vaguely, he tastes his own tears on his tongue, the salt burning where he’s chewed his lips bloody. He can’t bring himself to care much. He presses his lips to Daryl’s, the tang of blood mingling with his salty tears. It’s the last thing he knows before Rick deepens the kiss and pulls the trigger.


End file.
